the sky in california is a different shade of blue
the sort that whispers in your ear
and tells you to rest
the sort of sky that beckons you
to sleep
the marijuana breeze a blanket over your body

the sky speaks to us all
to the crack addled maniac wailing in the riverbed
to the almond growers laughing in the fields
to the housewives caking their faces to cover bruises left by their lovers
to the ******* kids speeding on the freeways

in early autumn when the heat makes children cry
and the forests fall to fire and wind
the sky tells you to close your eyes
and wait

in winter when the sky is more gray than blue
and the ocean thrashes with wild anxiety
the sky tells you to wait

and in the spring when the rains finally come
and the hills burst with green
the sky tells you to wait

but in the summer when the sun never goes down
and the roller rink never closes
the sky sings to you
and tells you to wake up

be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit

give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration

so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction

more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying

speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them

sometimes I'm reminded that you live in the little broken parts of me,
and though your love will come and go, that's where you'll always be.

even when you lift your face and it appears you almost care,
to think that you'll stay -- oh I wouldn't dare.

when tempted to compose a text or contemplate a call,
I tell myself that you're a lie and I can't have it all.

still awake late at night and wondering if I'm on your mind,
again and again I repeat, 'love is blind'.

to tell you the truth three years prior is when I let you go,
but whether or not I truly detached is for only me to know.

Never take movement for granted
because some time you will become
Immobilized
by depression
or a busted knee
or some other affliction
of the body
& mind

Aren’t they really one?
Can you have one without the other?
You need your mind to move
You need to move to feed your mind
So what happens then
when both refuse to operate?
I guess that brings me to my second point
Never take your mind for granted

The Path of the Everlasting leads to nowhere
not here, nor there, but everywhere

between the willows lies a world within a weathered blade
like breeze upon the grass and the morning's milky fade

the light may fade within, but when you leap from down below
the treasures of the teathered beams will shape you as you go

climbing through this wilderness, searching for a test
when this moment truly represents a summer daydream rest